


Adam Birkholtz: Love Expert

by politely_ironic



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, but without like the feels, its ok, like if u squint, lowkey bitty/holster but not really, someone def beat me to this but u kno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:31:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7517077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/politely_ironic/pseuds/politely_ironic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric R. Bittle should not let himself be talked into things. Especially not by resident rom-com king, Adam Birkholtz. Still, he has to admit, it might work. Might.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adam Birkholtz: Love Expert

**Author's Note:**

> based on [this.](http://tronnies-art-blog.tumblr.com/post/142323836831/play-along-bits-ok-so-ive-had-this-idea-for)

“Now I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you into my office,” Holster says, as Bitty jumps a foot in the air. He sets his bags down, and leans up against the closed door of his bedroom. Holster is wearing his glasses, and sitting in Bitty’s desk chair, which is way too small for him.  
“Holster, this is my room.”  
“...Yes, well, have a seat,” he gestures at Bitty’s bed.  
“How long have you been sitting in here?” Bitty asks, as he sits down, obligingly.  
“A couple of hours, but that’s irrelevant,” Holster waves it away, and Bitty spares him a skeptical glance, before crossing his legs daintily.  
“Oh dear Lord, this had better be good.”  
“Trust me. I have a proposal that will work well for the both of us,” He leans forward, an expectant gleam in his eyes, though that might just be the reflection off his glasses.  
“Uh, alright,” Bitty mutters, feeling like he will regret whatever it is Holster wants to do. Holster scooches forward, and lays a huge hand on Bitty’s knee. His clear blue eyes are crinkled with the devilish smile curling on his lips. Bitty feels himself tensing up in the extended silence. Holster is so dramatic, Bitty thinks, as his teammate inches ever closer.  
“We should date,” he breathes, so close to Bitty’s face that he can smell the heavy, masculine scent that Holster reeks of, something that Bitty finds undeniably attractive. But Holster is also his friend, and he feels a rush of familiarity, of fondness, of brotherhood. He could never- not with Holster, as much as he could see it- and then Bittle realizes that he’s is cackling, head thrown back in body wracking laughter. Bittle feels confusion flash through him, then a little bit of hurt, and a rage that burns so intensely steam might come out of his ears. He is about to give Adam Birkholtz the takedown of a lifetime, gears up to knock his huge teeth out of his mouth, when Holster looks at him, eyes huge with concern.  
“Wait! Wait, Bits, I didn’t mean it to like make fun of you! I promise, you know I would never, right? Your face was just-” he pauses, stifling a snort behind his hands, “you just looked like someone asked you to take the trash out. I meant that we, you and I, should fake date.”  
Bitty looks at him for a moment, waits for the wrath that makes his vision turn red to subside, before he can process what Holster is saying.  
“Uh, please don’t rack me. I still want to have kids someday,” Holster says, alarmed. He scoots back a little bit, hands protective over his crotch.  
“What the fuck do you mean, fake date?” Bitty says voice low, and a little threatening. Holster perks up, smile right back on his face.  
“Well, you might not know this, Bits, but I’m bi.” He begins, and Bitty nods. He did know, it’s hard not to, but he’s also not one to assume anyone’s sexuality, “And, I’m uh, well, um, Ransom…”  
“You like him,” Bitty finishes for him, and Holster flushes,  
“Uh, yeah, I- I really do,” sounding so shy, and so small that Bittle just wants to hug him. He recovers, though, and continues, “and you, you like Jack, don’t you?” It’s a simple question, point blank. Holster’s face is earnest, plaintive, and Bittle feels a warm bloom of affection in his chest.  
“Yes,” he finds himself answering, point blank. Holster claps his hands, and he’s positively beaming.  
“Then it’s obvious what we should do. If you like Jack, and I like Ransom, then we should make them jealous,” he’s whispering, conspiratorially, even though no one is home except for them.  
“You’ve been watching too many bad romantic comedies, Holster,” Bitty says immediately, sitting back on his haunches.  
“Come _on_ Bits, you and I both know it would work.”  
“How on God’s green earth would that work? If anything, they’d _both_ never make a move because they’d think we’re dating. Besides, I don’t think Jack even likes-”  
“He does,” Holster says immediately, totally confident. Bitty blushes and laughs inanely.  
“Do you think?”  
“Of course, Bits, you’d have to be blind not to see it. He’s so gay for you it’s not even funny,” Holster says seriously, and okay, _maybe_ it’s not that bad. Plus, if it doesn’t work, Bitty can still make out with a handsome, tall, blue eyed hockey boy. Even if it’s not Jack, it’s not like he’d really mind it. There are worse men than Adam Birkholtz, who is currently bouncing up and down in his seat like an excited puppy. If he can see his friends happy together, even, it’d be worth it.  
“Oh, alright. I’m gonna regret this later,” Bitty finally says, and Holster whoops loudly, bounding out from his chair. He scoops Bitty up easily, ignoring his indignant squawk. They’re in the middle of a particularly enthusiastic swing, Holster pressing a sloppy, wet kiss against his cheek, when Jack opens the door. He coughs, loudly, and Bitty notices, so he presses a hand to Holster’s chest. Holster looks up at Jack, still grinning breathlessly, and sets Bitty down gently on his feet. Bitty knows why, and sets his shoulders back, staring Jack down. Jack looks a little lost, and he mutters something unintelligible, probably in French. He ambles back to his own room, casual walk a little forced, and Bittle resists the urge to go after him. He glances up at Holster, who nods sagely.  
“This is definitely going to work.”

-

 

The next day, Holster rushes into the kitchen, looking a little wild eyed.  
“Ransom’s classes are done, he’s coming home, can I do a thing really quick?” he asks in a hurried whisper, and Bitty nods once, returning to his maple apple pie. He isn’t expecting Holster to just press himself against his back, hands gentle on his sides. It feels a little unnatural, but Bitty relaxes into it anyways. Holster’s head is light above his own, chin just barely resting on the crown of his head. He has to hunch down a bit, but Bitty knows Jack would be the perfect height to just meld into. He sighs, a little wistful, but mostly content. Holster is muttering something into his hair, quiet and sweet. It’s perfect, a specially crafted image for Ransom to walk into. That’s exactly what happens, though Bitty can only hear him. Thundering footsteps, a half call for Holster that ends abruptly. One of Holster’s hand moves from his hip, probably to wave, and Ransom’s disgruntled grunt is music to his ears. More footsteps, presumably trundling up to their shared bedroom, and Holster releases him.  
“Thanks Bits, you rock,” he says, smile evident in his tone, and Bitty shrugs,  
“Whatever you need to get your man, Holtzy.”

It just so happens that today is also movie night, and Bitty pulls Shitty aside as soon as he heads into the kitchen.  
“Shitty, can I talk to you?” he says, innocently, and Shitty smiles, grabbing a beer from the fridge.  
“Of course Bits, what do you got for me?”  
“Holster and I are dating,” he blurts out, and Shitty almost drops the bottle in his hands.  
_“What?”_  
“Not for real of course. Just so Jack and Ransom will pull their heads outta their asses.”  
“...Oh. Did Holster put you up to this?”  
“Yeah, obviously.” Like Eric Richard Bittle would ever come up with this type of harebrained scheme. He feels a little insulted.  
“Sounds like something I’d come up with," Shitty smiles wryly, like maybe he _had_ thought of it before. "Hope it works. Don’t worry, I won’t tell,” Shitty mimes zipping his mouth shut, and Bitty grins as soon as he hears the door open, the careful footsteps clearly Jack.  
“Showtime,” Shitty says, and walks away, greeting Jack loudly in the hallway. Bitty hopes it works too, as he steels himself for the most intentionally awkward moment of his life.

He ends up on the floor with Holster, snugly fit between his giant knees. Even Ransom doesn’t normally get this close to him, though they have been known to cuddle drunkenly. Holster is very good at keeping up the facade, whether it be that of a straight male, or that of Bitty’s fake boyfriend. Bitty knows Holster would be an excellent actual boyfriend, attentive and unabashedly affectionate. It’s clear that he’s been half acting as such for Ransom, who looks like an angry cat. There is so much space between him and Jack on the couch, where Holster and Bitty are supposed to be, and Bitty can feel the agitation from Ransom’s restless fidgeting, to Jack’s stony silence. It’s Shitty’s turn to pick, so they sit through Punch-Drunk Love, Bitty half in Holster’s lap. It isn’t really uncomfortable between them, even though Holster is mostly hard muscle and Bitty can feel his every movement. It just feels platonic, like he could do the same thing with Chowder or Lardo, but he knows it can’t look that way. He settles back into Holster’s wide chest, looking up at him sideways, and reaches up to comb his fingers into his fake boyfriend’s hair. It’s a simple gesture, right at the end of the movie, but Holster is beaming at him, and swoops down for a gentle kiss. It’s dry and familiar and brief, even though they’ve never done it before. Like a stage kiss, Bitty thinks, but it does the job. Jack immediately gets up, as the credits are rolling, not even bothering to say anything before he storms out of the room. Ransom creeps up warily behind him, and his gaze is unsure, tepid, but not quite cold. They all visibly relax with the two of them gone.  
“Shit guys, maybe it’s working a little too well,” Shitty exhales, as Bitty removes himself from Holster’s grasp. Holster looks pale, withdrawn.  
“Fuck, I’m such an asshole, Jesus Christ,” Holster groans, head in his hands.  
“Don’t worry, Holster, I think one more day of this, and it’ll all be over,” he looks grimly at his friends, and they both look at him questioningly, “It’s time to pull out the big guns.” He announces, and Holster swallows hard.  
“The big guns?” Shitty asks, still perplexed.  
“You’ll see,” Bitty replies, knowingly ominous. Holster’s theatrics are getting to him.

-

Morning checking practice with Jack is hell. It’s like they’re back in the beginning of freshman year, Jack’s jaw clenched so tight it looks like it hurts. He doesn’t play any games, doesn’t affectionately ruffle Bitty’s hair and chirp him and offer to get coffee afterwards. It leaves Bitty feeling worse than he ever did freshman year, because he knows Jack is different, knows he can be soft and kind. It’s like all of his defenses are up, because Jack thinks he’s dating Holster. It makes Bitty want to scream, how petulant and harsh Jack is, and also makes him want to kiss the hard edge in his jaw until it relaxes, smooth his fingers over the furrow in his brow, tell him that he has nothing to worry about if he’d only just express his feelings. He doesn’t want to hurt Jack, but he wants Jack to stop hurting him, and he almost gets around to saying it, when they leave Faber, but when he turns and opens his mouth, Jack says,  
“You have to get home to Holster, don’t you?” and the sneer on his face is evident. Bitty’s jaw snaps shut. Now he just wants to give him what he asked for.

After class, Bitty is baking some cookies for Chowder, because he’s been feeling a little down lately, and because he’s been itching to try the honey vanilla sugar cookie recipe his grandmother gave him. Holster has nothing to do today, so he mostly lounges around watching Gilmore Girls, occasionally heading into the kitchen to stick his head in the fridge and rifle around in it. They both freeze, though, when they hear voices outside the window. It’s what they’ve been waiting for. Ransom and Jack are taking the same medical history class this semester, so they walk to the Haus together. Bitty hops up on the counter without preamble. Holster waits a good fifteen seconds, listening for the door to squeak open, to shove himself between Bittle’s thighs. He braces a hand on the counter behind Bitty and crowds him in, his other hand gripping the underside of his calf. He presses their foreheads together, and Bitty’s face heats up immediately, at the indecent expression on Holster’s face. He wonders what Holster is thinking about, to be looking at him like he wants to eat him up, but it’s good, convincing enough that Bitty makes a small, reflexive noise in the back of his throat. If he could ever pop a boner while looking at Holster, it’d be right now, so when Jack curses loudly and Ransom just says “bro” in the most horrified way possible, he’s grateful.

Holster jumps back, at the noises, and looks at the two of them sheepishly. Bitty can finally see them, and Jack looks shocked, maybe even a little hurt. He can’t help it, the part of him that feels vaguely satisfied at pulling something out of Jack is quickly overshadowed by concern. Ransom, meanwhile, takes a steadying breath, closes his eyes, and walks up the Haus stairs, taking two at a time. Holster rushes after him, practically tripping on his own feet, as he calls, “Rans, wait man.”  
Jack stares at Bitty. Bitty stares back. Jack sighs, loud, and runs a hand through his hair.  
“I’m sorry, Bits. I’m- I’m being an asshole, I know. I don’t know, why-” He stops short, and approaches cautiously. The oven timer dings, and Bitty hurries over, only a little terrified of what might happen. He pulls the cookies out in an oven mitt, and when he turns around, Jack is terrifyingly close. While Holster smells good, musky and just a color minty, Jack doesn’t really smell much at all. He needs to get this close, for Bitty to pick up on clean linen of his clothes, the sweet citrus of his shampoo, the slight tang of sweat under all of it, and Bitty can count on one hand how many times Jack has done this, been so close to saying _something_. It only now hits him, that Jack is trying, has been trying this whole time to say what he feels. He’s just never been able to.  
“I’m happy that you and Holster are dating and-”  
“I’m not,” Bitty cuts him off, eyes widening in surprise at his own boldness. Jack looks shocked too.  
“What?”  
“I’m not dating Holster,” he says sincerely, and the corners of Jack’s mouth twitch.  
“It sure fucking looks like it,” he says tersely, and Bitty can’t help it; he laughs. He laughs and looks up at Jack, eyes flicking down to his lips and then back up again.  
“If I told you we weren’t, would you kiss me?” he breathes, tilting his face up invitingly.  
“Uh, well, um, I… just wanted to know for the… the team… y’know that, relationships can complicate things when you’re on a team together and I just want what’s best for the team, and-” he trails off. His hands land on Bitty’s jaw, reverent. “Uh, are you?”  
“No. Someone else has my eye.”  
“Well he’s a lucky bastard.”  
“He would be, if he could just shut up for a second,” Bitty says, a little impatient. Jack chuckles, and they’re so close that Bitty can feel the vibration of it in his chest. His hands flutter uselessly against Jack’s shoulders, and when they kiss, Bitty can feel his toes curl with the gentle press of their mouths.

-

Later, when Bitty stumbles down into the kitchen in the early hours of the morning, he finds Holster there, with a pot full of coffee. Blearily, he pours himself a mug, and drinks it straight black. Holster is sporting a magnificent hickey right over his heart, and they look at each other.  
“It definitely worked,” Holster says, grinning, and Bitty shakes his head at Holster’s smug face.  
“Yeah, it did,” Shitty declares loudly, as he approaches the front door. He looks exhausted.  
“It was above me and right next to me. All night,” he grouses, unamused.  
“Two pies?” Bitty asks, hopefully.  
“I want three pies and a batch of laced brownies, Bits.”  
“Regular brownies?”  
“They have to be the brownies with the cookies in the middle.”  
“Deal.”  
“Happy for you guys. Didn’t know Rans was a screamer, though,” Shitty says thoughtfully, as he exits the Haus. Holster looks decidedly delighted about it all, and Bitty is just glad he will never have to actually make out with him.


End file.
